


Searchers & Lovers & Leavers

by Michelle



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mirkwood, Orcs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-23
Updated: 2006-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:08:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28935294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle/pseuds/Michelle
Summary: Aragorn has had feelings for Legolas for most of his life. Will he finally act on them when he comes to Mirkwood to deliver the creature Gollum? (A/L)
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel





	1. Searchers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [To the Waters and the Wild](https://archiveofourown.org/works/249631) by [Jael (erynlasgalen1949)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erynlasgalen1949/pseuds/Jael). 



> Title: Searchers & Lovers & Leavers  
> Author: Michelle  
> Email: michelle [at] waking-vision.com  
> Summary: Aragorn has had feelings for Legolas for most of his life. Will he finally act on them when he comes to Mirkwood to deliver the creature Gollum? (A/L)  
> Pairing: A/L, mentions of A/A  
> Timeline: TA 3017  
> Beta: Namarië, kickass beta  
> Genre: slash, romance  
> Rating: NC17  
> Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine, but Aragorn and Legolas are my favourite playthings. Who would deny a girl her OTP?  
> Author’s Note: This story was inspired by a passage in another fic. As to not spoil the plot, I will give acknowledgements after the final chapter. Also, the title refers to a line in a Jim Morrison poem (yes *that* Jim Morrison). The original goes like this: The grand highway / is / crowded / w / lovers / & / searchers / & / leavers / so / eager / to / please / & / forget. / Wildnerness.

_In secret we met -_

_In silence I grieve,_

_That thy heart could forget,_

_Thy spirit deceive._

_If I should meet thee_

_After long years,_

_How should I greet thee? -_

_With silence and tears._

(“When We Two Parted” Lord Byron)

~*~

**Searchers**

_The fates are cruel indeed, to dangle that which a man most desires right in front of his face, and yet keep it just without reach._ I could not even count anymore how often this thought had crossed my mind in the last three weeks, ever since coming to Mirkwood. Right at this moment I was thinking it again, bitterly, for Mirkwood’s prince had taken it upon himself to entertain the visitor from Rivendell and had led me on a tranquil trail through the forest in the hopes of speeding along my recovery.

Legolas was running, climbing trees and speaking to flowers while I accompanied him silently, memorising his smiling eyes and the slight flush that coloured his cheeks after the mad dash through the forest.

“Aragorn,” he called merrily and then tracked back, noticing my sedate pace and somber face. “Are you tired? I think we should head down to the river. We can take a break at its banks and enjoy the fair weather.”

“I am well,” I interjected. “Do not stop on my account.” I knew this was a welcome respite for him, because the Prince of Mirkwood was famous for his skill in battle. There was hardly a day when he did not ride out to rid the realm of orcs or spiders, or simply to lead a patrol. To be walking his home just for the joy it brought him must have been a rare occurence. I would not spoil this for him.

He did not heed my words, but took me by the elbow instead and led me on, careful to keep our pace slow. Clearly he did not believe my assurances. His grip was firm on my arm, but it entailed none of the emotions I wanted it to carry. It was the touch of a warrior aiding a fellow warrior. It felt pratical, controlled, detached.

Cruel fates, indeed.

I had avoided the realm at all cost for years, because I feared seeing its prince. This time, though, there had been no other option. I had been on an errand for Gandalf, searching for the creature Gollum, and I had to endure the perils of Mordor before I could catch up with it in the Dead Marshes. It was a wily, obnoxious little being, making each step homewards a hardship. It cried and muttered, cursed and mumbled. It clutched at the Elvish rope theatrically and let me drag it along by the neck. The way back into friendly lands developed into a nightmare. I could not hunt and I rarely slept for fear the beast would attempt an escape. It bit into my hand early on in our journey and while it had only a handful of teeth left, its bite was forceful. The wound bled and festered, its throbbing pain always in the back of my mind, further sapping my strength. Yet I trudged along on willpower alone, solely concentrating on setting one foot in front of the other. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and I was shocked when the Mirkwood elves finally told me the date: I had spent nearly two months dragging Gollum through the wilds.

My only chance was to take Gollum to the woodelves. The elves of Lothlórien were not prepared to guard a tainted creature like this in their ethereal realm, and Gollum was too important to be left in one of the human settlements in the area. So, with a heavy heart I had made for Mirkwood, knowing that the king’s halls had dungeons deep under the mountain.

Two days I had been on my way into Mirkwood when one of the elven patrols stopped me. They would have thrown me into one of the dark cells right along with Gollum, had not one elf recognized me. Apparently he had belonged to Legolas’ guard long years ago, and remembered seeing me in Rivendell.

The next week was a blur in my memory. I do not remember the journey back to Thranduil’s Halls, but Legolas told me they let me ride double with one of the elves in the patrol after it had become apparant that I was dead on my feet.

I spent the next days in the healing wing, catching up on my sleep. The elves saw to all the little scrapes I had accumulated during my search for Gollum and at one point were prepared to take off my hand, because the wound had become infected and threatened to poison my blood. Legolas stilled their hand, though, at least that is what he told me afterwards. I was awake when the healers attempted to save the hand, cleaning and purging the wound, before I fell into a fevered sleep that lasted for four days. I have no recollection of any of this, those days are lost to me. Legolas sat with me through those dark hours, he told me so, and it scares me to think what secrets my lips might have revealed while my mind dwelled elsewhere. I did not ask him and he did not speak of it afterwards. I prefer to keep it that way.

King Thranduil actually came to my sickbed as soon as I was coherent enough to string two sentences together. The healer gave me a sip of miruvor to last me through the conversation and I told the king of Mithrandir’s errand, yet kept the Istar’s suspicions concerning the creature to myself. I bid Thranduil to guard the beast well and send for Mithrandir, and grugdingly the king agreed. I knew he generally tried to keep his kingdom out of the political spiderwebs that crisscrossed Middle Earth. The woodelves preferred to keep to themselves and Thranduil was not at all pleased with this sudden responsibility. Yet he was courteous, offering me to stay until my wounds were healed or at least until Gandalf arrived. I am just a ranger, who am I to deny a king? So I stayed and was subjected daily to the sweet torture of Prince Legolas seeing to all my needs. We know each other, Prince Legolas and I, and I am certain King Thranduil ordered his son to attend to his human guest for that very reason.

~*~

I was twenty-one when Legolas came to Rivendell. Yes, I had been told of my true identity a year prior and I had taken my place among the rangers, but I was so young, so naïve. Such a romantic; believing in the victory of good over evil, of love over hate, even though the books in my foster-father’s library spoke of a different tale. It was before I had ever looked into the eyes of an enemy ere I killed him, before I saw war, death and the scheming of those with power.

I fell in love with the first elleth to cross my path. Everyone else in the valley had seen me grow. They had kissed my scraped knees and nursed me through all those unpleasant childhood-illnesses. Arwen however... beautiful Arwen had just come back from Lothlórien and would only ever know the man I had become. I believed to have strayed into a dream when she appeared before me, a wondrous and ethereal creature. She could be my Lúthien, my means to snare my way into legend and song. She took a liking to me, spending time with me, but only later did I realize that I had never really woken from that dream. My love for Arwen was surreal, a fairy-tale; and even when we made love under the stars of our home, there was a part of her that I could not reach. Just as there was a part of me that I could not give her.

It took Legolas, or rather the feeling his absence evoked in me, to show me the errors of my path. I do not recall what led his party to my home, but his arrival was a surprise. Elladan and Elrohir had gone on one of their orc-hunting missions and were not expected back for weeks. Elrond was tending an injured elf in the Halls of Healing and Glorfindel had travelled to the next human settlement to trade for provisions for the coming winter. Therefore, my father sent me to greet the royal guest from over the mountains. I was part of the family after all. I had diplomatic training, and I could use the exercise in manners. So I exchanged my plain riding gear for formal robes, mounted my horse and rode out to meet the party from Mirkwood.

Legolas rode with about ten guards, and even though all wore simple travelling clothes there was no mistaking who of them was the prince. His beauty was unparalleled, everything about him seemed to glow in a steady warm light. His hair spilled around his shoulders and there was a smudge of dirt on his cheek; a mark on the otherwise flawless skin that was more endearing than tainting. The prince held himself with grace, sitting straight and proud on his horse without appearing stiff. Yet, his blue eyes radiated formality, and I thought it better to meet his expectations.

I touched my heart in way of greeting and lowered my head, noticing the openly curious stares from the elven party. Surely they had to wonder why a human greeted them thus.

“Welcome to Rivendell,” I said, trying to imitate my father’s carrying voice as best as I could. “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain and foster son of Lord Elrond. I bid you welcome on my father’s behalf. Let me escort you to the Last Homely House where you can refresh yourself.”

The elves exchanged glances; it appeared they had heard of the human living in the Last Homely House. Legolas nudged his horse forwards to indicate he was the leader of this group. With equal formality he replied. “I am Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood, and we thank you for your hospitality.”

That was as far as our conversation went. I took the lead, the Mirkwood elves following behind, muttering amongst themselves. I heard someone quietly complain about Elrond sending his “pet human” and to this day I cannot say whether it was Legolas’ voice making that accusation. I kept quiet, blushing from my anger. After we arrived in the courtyard of my home, I saw the elves to their lodgings and fled their company.

There was no escaping them so easily though, since it seemed Legolas was there to stay. We exchanged no more than formal trivialities for weeks, until we finally managed a fresh start. It was on the archery range, of course. I had gone to work on my aim when Legolas appeared next to me, obviously with the same intent. Upon seeing me, however, he did not shoot, but observed my stance and technique, making my hand shake in nervousness.

My arrow hit the outer edge of the bull’s eye and I felt I had not shamed myself entirely. And since the target sat on the far end of the range, Legolas seemed to think so, too.

“Not a bad shot,” he said and I could practically _see_ him thinking the rest of the sentence: _for a human._ I did not rise to the bait and simply thanked him.

“Your reputation precedes you,” I tried for polite conversation. “They say you are the best archer of all the elven realms.”

“Are they saying that?” He actually grinned. “Well, then there must be some truth to the statement.” He was showing off, nocking an arrow with casual grace and letting it fly with not so much as a second glance. The arrow hit dead center.

I stared, what else could I do? I managed an “Impressive” after a while and continued to gape at the arrow in the bull’s eye.

“You are Lord Elrond’s foster son, are you not?” he asked conversationally, as if he had already forgotten our introduction weeks ago. Legolas peered at me curiously as if he was observing an unknown species. “Who taught you the ways of the bow?” he asked.

“My brothers,” I answered, not certain where this might lead.

“I see.” There it was again, that enigmatic smile. “Elladan and Elrohir might be deadly with their swords, but give them a bow and they...” Here he trailed off, raising an eyebrow suggestively and waving his hand as if I should know what he was about to say.

Was he insulting my brothers? He must have seen the heated reply that was just at the tip of my tongue when he conceded.

“What if a real archer showed you a trick or two?” I knew the sentence for what it was. A peace offering, Legolas’ attempt to get to know me better.

I jumped at the opportunity. Legolas turned out to be a gifted teacher and we trained for the rest of the afternoon, until my arms felt like lead. They were shaky and entirely weak, but my aim certainly had improved. As had my accord with Legolas. The day was a complete success.

We were not fast friends after this day, but I think each found the other to be more enjoyable company than he had first thought. Dinner conversations followed, chess matches that lasted well into the night, hunting sprees in the woods surrounding the house, even a few baths in the little lake not far from the garden. I began to appreciate Legolas’ dry humour as well as his bouts of a more somber mood. My father seemed to prefer to send Legolas along if he had an errand for me and in my blindness I did not see the truth of the matter. In his perceptiveness Elrond had looked right through me, saw this forming friendship for what it truly was and tried to further it, hoping I would set Arwen free. It took me another fifteen years to see my father’s true intentions.

Legolas became a faithful companion, and he stayed in Rivendell until I left the valley when I was twenty-six. In the weeks before my departure I talked with him at length about my fears concerning Arwen. How much I would miss her. How much I feared her feelings for me would dwindle and die with time. Only when I had nearly reached Rohan in my travels did the heart of the matter become clear to me: I missed Legolas much more than I missed Arwen.

Arwen was a being I could never quite grasp. She seemed to have stepped down from a higher plane. I felt awed in her presence, tongue-tied even. My courtship of Arwen was a choreographed dance, and I could barely remember the steps.

Legolas, though, felt natural. When we were together I talked about everything, without reservations. Legolas was grounded in this reality, he shared my concerns and fears instead of merely listening to them. We had shed blood together on more than one occasion. How much closer could you get?

It was not too late then, to set Arwen free and pursue Legolas – even though I strongly suspected he would not return my blossoming feelings of love. However, I was too proud. Too proud to give up the Evenstar, too proud to admit my mistake. And so I continued the charade with a heavy heart and vowed to stay away from Legolas as best as I could.

I remembered our words upon parting. “You will always be welcome in Mirkwood, Aragorn,” he had said. “If you ever are in the vicinity of my home, venture into the woods. You will be granted free passage. I will be glad to see you.”

I never took him up on his words, until now. So many years later, and I was not quite so young and naïve anymore. That however, had only deepened the wound and widened the gap between us, I thought while Legolas’ hand lingered on my elbow and he fell in step with me.

We reached the riverbank not half an hour later. The waters were of an unsettling black, but the river was lined by lush greenery. The forest was alive with birdsong and the sun was peeking through the treetops, warming my skin. Legolas led me to a flat and grassy part of the bank that looked as if it might have been a fort in the past.

“This is the Enchanted River,” my guide told me. “Everyone who drinks from it or falls into the water will succumb to a deep sleep.”

I looked dubiously at the black surface of the river. “It is tainted by dark magic?”

“No, not necessarily,” Legolas answered. “The sleep is not deadly and it is said the dreams are not at all unpleasant.” He shrugged. “I would not know, though. I have never been victim to these waters, nor have I known one who was.”

“Mhm,” I shrugged, accepting this new information on Mirkwood’s sights without question. So far the woods had been gloomy and forbidding – after everything I had seen of it, a magic river was not at all a surprise.

We sat down at the river’s bank in silence, both listening to our surroundings or our own thoughts, I suppose. Our outing might have developed into a lazy afternoon, had not Legolas suddenly jumped up, wearing an alarmed expression.

I rose to my feet as well, trusting my companion’s instincts. “What is it?” I inquired in a low voice when I saw Legolas’ hand go for his bow.

“I hear heavy footsteps, and there is a foul smell on the air,” he whispered back. Just then the forest went silent. The birds took flight and even the leaves seemed to have stopped swaying in the wind.

“Orcs,” Legolas spat. I had feared as much. “So near to the palace, this area should be safe.”

We had both come armed, as was our habit. I could not wield my sword with my still weak right hand, so I grasped the hilt with my left. My brothers had always insisted I train with both arms, yet the left had never become as strong as the right. It would have to do, for now.

A handful of orcs swarmed out of the bushes, six from what I could see. Before they even reached us, one of Legolas’ arrows whirred through the air and met its target. Dead center; the elf had not lost his touch. Two orcs ran in my direction, scimitars raised threateningly. They seemed to be surprised at my left-handed stance, but only for a moment.

I could see Legolas fight somewhere to my left, but I could spare him no thought. I had been out of the healing wing for only ten days, and I was ill-prepared for a fight to the death. My arm soon started to feel heavy, my blows and parries coming slower. I was panting, sweating even. Two orcs should not tire me this much, but they did.

When I noticed their intent it was already too late. They had driven me back to the river. If I took another step backwards, I would stand in the shallows. Legolas’ words came back to me and I desperately tried to turn the tables: Drive the orcs into the river instead, let sleep take them and they could drown while they were swept downriver.

With more luck than skill I killed one of the orcs, but the remaining one attacked me with such force, that the grip on my sword faltered. The weapon fell, and I went to my knees with it. The orc, seeing its chance, kicked me square in the chest and I fell backwards. I braced myself on the ground, to not fall flat on my back and in a moment of clarity I saw time stretch before me. My left hand had landed in the river, it was submerged to the wrist. In a last desperate attempt I drew one of my knives and threw it at the beast, but I never saw whether the weapon hit true.

Warmth was spreading up my arm, leaving numbness in its wake. It reached my shoulder, my heart, my face. Soon I could not feel my limbs anymore, I was a floating presence without a body, a spirit without corporeal form. My vision blurred, and the last thing I saw was Legolas running towards me. His face was contorted in fear, panic even. He was shouting something, but no sound reached my ear. Contentment filled me, that this should be the last vision I saw. I held onto the image of my secret love for as long as possible, and then darkness enshrouded me. It beckoned me to step into the abyss and I went gladly, Legolas’ face imprinted in my memory.

**Translations:**

elleth – elven maiden

**Notes:**

\- The info on Aragorn’s search for Gollum comes from “Fellowship of the Ring”, Chapter “The Council of Elrond”.

\- Thanks to Valkov for providing the additional quote from “Unfinished Tales”, Chapter “The Hunt for the Ring, Other Versions of the Story”, which states that Aragorn needed 50 days for the return journey to Mirkwood (he arrived there on March 21th).

\- You might think it’s a bit extreme to have Aragorn nearly lose his hand because of Gollum’s bite. But: Bite wounds are known to be dangerous for they are almost never clean and therefore tend to cause infection. Bite wounds on hands and feet are the most dangerous type. Also, have you ever really looked at Gollum’s teeth? Let me just say.. yuck.

\- I am not sure whether the Enchanted River is really near enough to Thranduil’s Halls to be reached in a day’s march. But this is fanfiction, so let’s just assume.


	2. & Lovers

**& Lovers**

The first thing I became aware of upon waking was the touch of another. A hand was lying against my cheek, the thumb caressing my skin with timid strokes. The hand was warm and comforting and I longed to feel more of its gentle touch. As my senses became more and more aware, I noticed a presence near me at the same time the memory of the orc-fight came back to me. I had succumbed to the magic of the Enchanted River, though I could remember none of the pleasant dreams Legolas had mentioned. I remembered the advancing orc before darkness descended. And then ... nothing.

The presence shifted, but the hand on my cheek remained. When I managed to open my eyes, they fell on a patch of flawless pale skin. I was paralysed by the expanse of throat that hovered above my face. The skin was transluscent, giving off a warm glow that could only come from an elf. It was Legolas who was so near me that I could see the pulse beat beneath his skin. It was his slender hand on my cheek. The detachment of his touch was gone and I could feel concern, affection and warmth radiating from him. I bathed in those emotions. They could not last, but I wanted to pretend, if only for a moment, that my dreams could come true. That Legolas could love me as I loved him.

I could not help myself, my hand moved to lie above Legolas’ on my cheek and it was then, of course, that the elf noticed I had finally woken and stopped his perusal of my seemingly sleeping form. He cocked his head in that curious fashion of his that always made him look impossibly young, and his eyes sought my still tired gaze. Even amongst elves, Legolas’ eyes are exceptional. I have travelled far and wide and I have found nothing in the whole of Middle Earth that could describe their colour. They were of the lightest blue, almost shocking to look at, without appearing to be cold or heartless. The sky above Rohan when the mists of early morning vanished up into the air had always reminded me of Legolas’ eyes, as had the thawing rivers high up in the mountains with their unusual colour. But neither sky nor river could really do Legolas’ eyes justice.

They were in a league of their own, and were currently looking straight at me, peering into my soul and piercing my heart. I should close my eyes against this innocent attack, I thought despairingly, but could not bring myself to end this intimate moment.

“You slept for two days, Aragorn,” Legolas all but breathed into the space between our faces and I felt the puff of air on my lips. “I feared you would not wake.” And I saw this very fear in his eyes. The days he spent in vigil at my side, the attempts to rouse me, the despair that gnawed at him.

I needed to take those fears from him, and for a moment all the reasons for not doing this took leave, and I lifted my face to breach the remaining distance between us. My mouth caught his, assuring him that I was still there. As soon as our lips touched, the enormity of what I was doing crashed down on me, but he felt so good against my mouth. His lips were moist, tasting like dew on a spring meadow. And soft they were, molding against my demanding lips acquiesingly, opening just enough to hint at the treasure that lay behind.

Our mouths probably touched only for mere moments before my senses returned to me and I abruptly ended the kiss. I mumbled an embarrassed “I’m sorry”, averting my gaze as to not see the reproach in Legolas’ remarkable eyes.

He did not allow me to flee, though. The hand that was still on my cheek turned my face back to him, forcing me to look him in the eye.

“Are you truly sorry?” he asked. The question startled me. I had expected anger from him, for overstepping the boundaries of our friendship. Instead he sounded insecure, his voice clearly hoping for a “no” instead of a “yes”, and his eyes were still trying to look into my heart.

“The things you said about us during your fever, did you not mean them?” So I had spoken during those days? I had bared my soul to him and could not remember my words. What a waste.

His hand was still against my cheek, supporting and encouraging me, and it was distracting. “I value our friendship, Legolas,” I said diplomatically. “I would not endanger that.”

“You can never lose my friendship, Aragorn,” he replied. “I waited for so long for you to come to me. When I left Rivendell so many years ago, I hoped you would come to a decision with time. I hoped you would come to Mirkwood as a free man.” He paused. “My arms would have welcomed you. My heart would have welcomed you.”

I gaped at him. There was no misunderstanding these words. “You mean... You are... ?” I could not end the sentence. I had never really considered this. The possibility that Legolas could love me, a mere mortal, was too surreal to contemplate. There had been no hints, no advances – nothing that could have led me to that conclusion.

“I am,” he said simply. “I have been for so long. Ever since I came to Rivendell.”

I sat up abruptly. Legolas loved me. Had always loved me, the way I loved him. Were the fates not cruel after all, but had granted me a second chance with the elf I had longed for all these years?

I hugged him, crushing his slender frame to my much broader chest. Without hesitation, his arms came around my back and he held onto me as desperately as I held onto him.

“Then you have come to Mirkwood to return home to me?” he asked and the hope made his voice sound like honey that was dripping from a spoon.

I thought of Arwen and of my betrothal to her. I thought of my destiny that seemed to lead in a straight path to Minas Tirith, queen by my side. All those things had been decided long ago and I had closed my heart to my doubts and personal feelings. Yet, I could not deny what I felt deep in my soul. And if this visit in Mirkwood would be all I could ever have with Legolas, I would take and enjoy it. I would not throw away the second chance that had been given to me.

“Yes,” I answered with conviction and I meant it. “I want to be with you. I never wanted anything as much as I want you.”

We would need to talk. About my responsibilities and duties and about the fact that nothing in my life had changed. However, the time was not now. I wanted to bathe in this new-found love, wanted to be wrapped in the knowledge that Legolas returned my feelings, wanted to live in this moment where nothing but the two of us existed.

I tried to convey all these things and more with my eyes. And when I drowned in Legolas’ blue ones I saw the same emotions reflected there. I needed to touch, explore, caress and feel all of him. And sooner rather than later.

Suddenly, the shy kiss we had shared before was not enough anymore. “Legolas, allow me to...” Again I was at a loss for words, but Legolas seemed not to mind. He gave me a radiant smile so full of joy that the breath caught in my throat. I had never seen him so content.

“Of course, Aragorn. I want the same.” And the smile turned coy. Endearing.

For a fleeting moment I wished for a bed. Something plush and comfortable, so that we would feel like lying upon a cloud. But we were still in the woods, and what better place to prove my love to a woodelf than on a bed of leaves and grass. I looked around us, noticing for the first time that we were still at the banks of the Enchanted River. It was late afternoon and the retreating sun dipped everything around us in an orange light. We were not that far from Thranduil’s Halls. A sudden thought occured to me.

“Will we not be missed?” I asked worriedly. It would not do to be caught by an elven patrol.

“Do not be worried,” Legolas said. “We will not be interrupted.” I decided not to ask how he could know that. I believed him, there was no need to trade further words.

Legolas had been half-sitting and half-kneeling next to my sleeping form. And now I was much in the same position. The urge to taste his lips again became unbearable and I surrendered at once. I held his gaze while my mouth descended upon his. Again, his mouth parted only slightly and my tongue traced his succulent lips with loving strokes. I wanted to taste all he had to offer and be invited into his mouth, but Legolas made me work for it. When finally his tongue darted out to meet mine, a rush of desire spread through me. The tip of his tongue pushed against mine and for a few moments we duelled for dominance until we fell into a rhythm. He was demanding, giving as much as he took and to me it felt as if someone held a torch to my body. I was burning with arousal and need. And all from a kiss.

When we parted, we were breathless and flushed from this first tentative meeting. Legolas looked at me, his blue eyes dark and molten and spoke invitingly, “I yield to you, Dúnadan.”

I knew the invitation for what it was. Legolas would give himself to me, body and soul, and I could not wait to be united with him. I had never taken anyone but Arwen to my bed, but I had heard whispers in the ranger camps, about brothers in arms who shared the rush of passion as well as the rush of battle. I should feel young and inexperienced again, nervous of what was to come, but this was Legolas. There was no reason to feel inconfident in his presence.

I was drawn back to his lips as a moth is drawn to the flame and I kissed him fiercely while my hands were busy untying the knots and laces of his jerkin and shirt. Dimly, my mind registered his hands on me, doing the same, and it felt like we were fighting a battle until our skin was exposed.

I had seen Legolas more or less naked before. But now I was allowed to peruse his flawless beauty, knowing this body would be mine to enjoy. I laid my palm against his chest and while his skin was soft I could feel his hardened muscles beneath. There was strength here to match my own. This would be nothing like lying with Arwen.

My hand on his chest started to wander, to acquaint itself with the hard planes of Legolas’ body. My right hand soon joined the left, because this felt like heaven. To touch, stroke and caress every inch of him was something I had longed to do for so long, and to do it now was a dream come true. Legolas was enjoying the attention as well, his breaths came audibly and his chest was heaving beneath my caresses. My mouth abandoned his lips for the moment and I attached myself to his nipples, letting my tongue circle and wet the nubs. They hardened unter my kiss while I felt Legolas’ lean into my touch. His hands came to rest at the back of my head, encouraging me to lavish attention on those sensitive spots.

I rolled his nipple between my teeth, careful to tease and not to hurt, and was rewarded with a wanton moan from my elven lover. I had never heard a sound so unguarded come from his lips and my own desire heightened simply from the knowledge that it was me eliciting this sound from him. I continued to kiss and nip, going from nipple to nipple and then downwards, sucking patches of skin into my mouth. Legolas was falling backwards, drawing me above him and I was treated to an image of my elf lying under me writhing in pleasure, begging for my touch.

I saw the bulge in his leggings and could not wait any longer. With more need than actual skill I all but ripped his leggings off of him and saw his desire spring free. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. His pale skin was flushed and glistening with sweat. He was pushing his narrow hips up, into me, while he tried to make me lose the rest of my garments.

When we were finally naked, I laid down on him, my skin flush against his, our bodies touching as much as possible. It was an intimate moment, one that did not need any additional words or the frenzy of movement. To feel his skin against mine, chest against chest, belly against belly, hips against hips and arousal against arousal; it was as near as I could come in being one with him.

We had to move eventually. Legolas bucked under me, and his arousal moved against mine, making me moan into his neck. “Make me yours,” Legolas said, his voice husky and raw and not meant to carry far.

“Yes,” I echoed and my hand went between our bodies, grabbing his arousal and stroking it firmly. I observed the emotions chase each other on my elf’s face, his eyes half-lidded and his lips rosy from our kisses. His mouth was opened in a tiny “oh” of suprise as if he could not believe we were really here, sharing our bodies.

“Aragorn,” he called, his body writhing under me, his hands clutching my arms, stroking them. “Take me,” he all but ordered and managed to open his eyes enough to melt my heart with his loving gaze.

The rhythm of my strokes faltered and I was uncertain of how to proceed. “You have never lain with another male, have you?” he asked, all but reading my thoughts, and I blushed from feeling the virgin in this situation. I did not manage more than a nod.

He stilled under me and cupped my face in his palm, seeking my eyes. He smiled at me then and I knew I would be able to pleasure him.

“Let me show you,” he said and took up my right hand, kissing and sucking the fingers. He lavished attention on each digit, wetting them thoroughly in the process. The wanton display made me want him all the more and I thrust against his arousal causing him to moan into his kiss. He released my fingers and guided me down to his entrance. Instinctively, I started to caress the opening, brushing against it while Legolas drew up his legs to allow me better access. I pushed a finger into him and felt his body close around me. So this was it.

“Move your finger,” Legolas panted and I did, exploring this hidden place. My finger found a little nub and Legolas arched his back when I brushed the spot repeatedly. He threw his head back, exposing his throat and lying before me open, exposed – mine.

“More,” he demanded and I added another finger to join the first while my left hand stroked his inner thigh. His legs fell apart even wider and he pushed against my fingers seeking more friction. My own desire was setting me afire, but still I wanted to draw out our lovemaking for as long as possible.

“Join with me now,” he said under his breath. “I can wait no longer.” And he moaned again at the loss of my fingers.

I positioned myself above him, looking at him, determined to carve this image into my brain to sustain me when I was alone in the Wilds. He gazed back lovingly, his breathing ragged, but his skin aglow. He gripped me then, to guide me into his body and I moaned from this touch alone. I felt myself breach his entrance and then I was engulfed in his silken heat. Sheathed in him, one with him.

“Move, Aragorn!” and I did, starting in a slow and even rhythm, so we could both become accustomed to the feel of the other. This was bliss, heaven, and I never wanted to part from Legolas again. I felt like I had just been completed, as if I had lived my life without an integral part of my soul up until now.

It was minutes of moans, strokes, pushes, caresses and kisses after that. Our hands were roaming each other’s bodies while I thrust into him, trying to hit the spot that made him arch against me, his eyes dark from desire. I took a firm hold of his arousal, stroking it with my thrusts and we fell into an eternal rhythm. Soon I had to break our kiss, because my passion was blinding me, coursing through me in violent waves and I felt the blood rush in my ears while my head fell against Legolas’ neck and his arms encircled me while we both neared our peak.

Legolas’ went rigid beneath me mere moments before I felt my own climax roll into me and I clutched at my elf, so I would not drown in the powerful emotions that swirled in my body and soul. With a cry I spent myself in him and felt his own essence spill over my hand. Time stood still afterwards, our bodies unmoving for a moment, while my mouth sought Legolas’ pulse point. I could feel his racing pulse under my kiss and we stayed like this. Sated. Content.

If this were a perfect world we would have stayed like this for eternity, our sweat and essence mingling and our bodies an entwined tangle of limbs. We would stay thus, a monument to the pleasures of love and passion and not even the breaking of the world would tear us apart. This is not a perfect world, though, and eventually I had to move. I slipped out of him, a sting in my heart from the sudden loss, and let myself be embraced by his strong arms. It seemed he was feeling as awed as me, holding onto me desperately as if he could not believe I was truly his.

Words and feelings were tumbling inside my head, a sudden chaos in the afterglow of our lovemaking. I needed to give them to Legolas, as a token of my love, because I had nothing else to give to him.

“ _I have spread my dreams under your feet,”_ I told him, searching for the right words to continue. _“Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”_ His eyes gazed lovingly at me.

“Do not fear, Aragorn. Elves always tread lightly.” I smiled at him. Under other circumstances it might have been a joke, but now it was a promise. He would cherish what we had just created, just as I would cherish it.

“I see you are still quite the poet,” he added and I had to nod. Growing up in an elven realm had taught me to appreciate the finer arts. And Legolas was a creature that deserved to be appreciated in song and word.

“I was so afraid to come to Mirkwood. To be near you, yet not to be able to really be with you,” I said, because I could not keep quiet, needed to talk about our love.

“I have always waited for you,” Legolas replied. “The choice was yours.”

He had hinted at this before, but I could not believe it. “How? Why?” I asked. “I never knew you returned my feelings. You were only ever a friend to me.”

Legolas sighed. “You were so young, Aragorn. You were only exploring the secrets life has to offer. I did not want to force my feelings on you. I decided to wait, give you time to come to terms with your feelings and to see where your heart truly lies.”

“It took me long enough,” I admitted bitterly. All those wasted years and only now I found that my heart could not be denied. Would it be too late to follow where love led me?

“Do not be sad,” Legolas soothed while he traced idle patterns on my upper arm. “There is no use in asking what might have been. We are here now, together. The future is always open to us, Aragorn. It is our task to shape it to our liking.”

He made it sound so simple. Could I follow his strong conviction?

“I will try,” I said, uncertain. I did not lack love. I lacked faith.

“You are not one to try,” my elf said. “Your reputation precedes you. You are a man of great deeds. If you set your eye on something you will see it through. And I will have your back.”

“You would stand by me?” I had not considered this, that I would not have to be alone anymore. That Legolas could share my life, my hardships, my doubts.

“Always,” he simply said and warmth suffused me. I felt wanted, accepted and for a moment the cares of the world could not reach me here.

“This feels like a dream come true,” I told him. “I always wished for us to be more than just friends. I never believed it to be possible, though.”

“Believe it. This is no dream. This is reality.” He took my hand and placed it above his heart. I could feel the steady and calming beat under my fingertips. “Trust this. This is real. We are real.”

We lay silently for a while, and I took comfort from Legolas’ heartbeat until another thought occured to me. A question I had never dared ask, for fear what the answer might be.

“Legolas, you only ever called me Aragorn. Why?”

He looked at me as if I had taken leave of my senses. “Because that is your name, adan.”

True, but that could not be all. “Yes, but I was always Estel to the elves in Rivendell. They never called me by another name, even after my heritage had been revealed to me. Yet I was Aragorn to you. I feared it was your way of denying my elven upbringing.” Now that I was finally saying it aloud, it sounded almost silly. However, sixty years ago in Rivendell, the fact that Legolas refused to call me by my elven name had felt like a slight.

“No!” he replied vehemently. “Never that! You are a man in your own right, Aragorn. I wanted you to know that I accepted you as the man you were. Not only as the foster son of Lord Elrond; Estel, the boy without history. I did not know you felt this way, I am sorry.”

He seemed to think for a moment. “I will need a new name for you then. Something independent from your human and elven identity. Something only I will call you.”

“I would like that,” I said. A secret name that only Legolas would call me by. And the name would bind me to him.

“Mhmm. I will have to think of something.” I could live with that. I knew elves took great responsibility, but also great pleasure in the naming of things. It was said that a name resonated in the soul of a being, therefore it was important to call someone by a name that would help this person on his journey through life. It was not by chance, that my foster-father had named me Estel.

We stayed at the banks of the Enchanted River, too lazy and too content to disentangle ourselves and head back to the palace. We did not want to return to the world just yet, instead we enjoyed each other’s company. We talked deep into the night and I told him much of my fears and hopes. Sometimes we were silent, just listening to our heartbeats and how they seemed to beat together the more we concentrated on each other. We embraced and kissed and touched and explored all the ways in which we could give each other pleasure.

In the dead of night I lay sated and exhausted next to Legolas, my leg between his thighs and my arm protectively around his chest. The day had tired me, in a good way, and before I drifted off to sleep I felt Legolas place a kiss upon my brow and whisper lovingly, “Sleep well, Sador.”

I had been named.

**Translations:**

adan – man

sador – faithful one

**Notes:**

- _“I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”_ Those are the last two lines from William Butler Yeat’s poem “Cloths of Heaven”.


	3. & Leavers

**& Leavers**

Sunlight was shining right into my closed eyes, distracting me from sleep. I did not want to wake just yet, regardless of whether the sun was high in the sky or not. I wanted to stay in Legolas’ embrace in the hopes that maybe he would kiss me good morning. And hopefully, things would develop from there. I smiled to myself at the memory of last night and could not wait for this new day, because there was so much more to enjoy with Legolas.

As awareness returned more and more to my tired body, though, I noticed in disappointment that I was lying alone on my bedroll. My elf was nowhere near, and his arms were not embracing me to keep my dreams light.

I opened my eyes, curious as to where Legolas had gone and my gaze fell on the elf who was sitting by the river, apparently working on his arrows. Why was he not here with me? Had he already tired of my company?

“Legolas,” I called to let him know I was awake. Surely I was overreacting. My elf had probably been awake for hours and had become tired of sitting idly by, doing nothing while the day was underway. I wanted to call him back to our resting place for a kiss or two.

He turned and I saw the change in him immediately. The loving spark in his eyes had gone. He smiled, but it was affection only that his stance exuded.

“You are awake,” he said as he drew even with me and kneeled by my side. “Finally. I grew worried when I could not wake you.”

_What?_ I looked at him askance and an ill feeling settled in my stomach.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You fell into the river just after killing that second orc. Apparently the enchantment is not just a myth to keep strangers from the forest. You fell into a deep sleep at once and I could not rouse you. Had I not dragged you out of the water you probably would have drowned. You slept through the night without waking.”

The ill feeling intensified tenfold.

“That is all?”

“Yes,” he peered closely into my eyes. “Are you well? I hope you did not hit your head when you fell.”

I was far from well, but not for the reasons Legolas suspected. “I am fine,” I lied and he nodded, obviously pleased with my answer.

He brought me some tea and bread, because he wanted to return to the palace as soon as possible to report the orc activity to his father. Sitting down with me and watching me eat, he asked. “And?”

I looked at him, not able to discern what he wanted from me now. “And what?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “As I told you the Enchanted River is supposed to cause pleasant dreams. Did you dream, Aragorn?”

He was driving a sharp dagger into my heart with the seemingly innocent question. His smiling face was as it had ever been. The face of a friend. He was concerned I had lasting effects from the magic of the river, but other than that he seemed serene. I imagined how different he had looked last night – _in my dream,_ I thought despondently – when we had made love. I could not bear to look at him.

“Yes,” I answered and turned my face to the river under the pretense of studying its waters.

He waited for a few moments, and when it became clear I would not elaborate, he sighed and gave up. “All right, Aragorn. Keep your secrets to yourself. But you do not look like someone who enjoyed last night’s dream.”

I felt the dagger in my heart twist. How could I ever be near him again after this? I had been so thankful for this second chance, to see my own feelings reflected in Legolas’ eyes, but now that reality had gripped me again I succumbed to despair. Should I hold on to this second chance? Confess my love to him? But what if he did not return my feelings, if the dream had not been a vision or prophecy, but just that – a dream? What if Legolas had never felt anything more than friendship for me?

Emotions warred inside of me while Legolas went about breaking camp. I was thankful to have been with Legolas for this one night – if only in a dream. But now I knew what I was missing. If I went back into Arwen’s arms, I would know how much _more_ love could be. It would mean lying to everyone. Lying to Arwen, because I was betrothed to her when I loved someone else. Lying to Legolas, because I saw so much more than a friend in him. And lying to myself, because I would have to douse the flame that had been kindled in my heart.

But I was used to lying to myself where my feelings were concerned. I would just vanish in the Wilds again and pretend I did not have a heart when I could clearly hear it shatter.

“Let us head back,” Legolas called from the river’s edge, unconcerned by my heavy thoughts. “My father will worry. We will probably encounter some guards along the way that have been sent to search for us.”

I called back an affirmative and remembered last night. “We will not be interrupted,” he had said and now I knew that the sentence did not make sense. Of course Thranduil would worry and send guards after us. Why had I not wondered about it then?

Because it had been a dream. Everything makes sense in dreams. Even the outrageous idea that Legolas loved me.

The elf handed me my weapons and my pack and started off in the direction of his father’s halls. His step was light, he was obviously enjoying himself. Just like yesterday he was walking ahead, revelling in the wonders of the forest, while I followed behind caught in my gloomy thoughts.

As I saw him walk, the words I had spoken to him yestereve came to mind. His feet hardly touched the ground, but he was trampling all over my dreams and hopes nonetheless.

“ _I have spread my dreams under your feet,”_ I said quietly, as if to myself. There was no need to accuse him when he had no memory of something that had never truly happened outside my head.

To my surprise, Legolas turned, having heard my exclamation. He gave me one of those dazzling smiles again and answered. _“Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._ A beautiful verse, Aragorn.” The look on his face was one of unknowing innocence.

I swayed under the force of these words. How could he know them when I had spoken them only in my dream? I wanted to shake him, ask him, change him into the Legolas who had named me Sador last night. But the elf just turned, oblivious to my plight and walked on. Leaving me behind, alone once more.

Yet, a spark of hope had returned to my heart.

The cruel fates were toying with me again. Yet maybe this time, I would finally be victorious.

_\- The End (or is it?)_

_(April 2006)_

**Final Note:**

This story was sparked by a line in Jael’s story “To the Waters and the Wild” in which Legolas says to Aragorn about the Enchanted River: “You would sleep for days, and while I have heard it can be quite pleasant, I have not the time or the patience to watch you snore and dream of delicious feasts and willing maidens.” An instant bunny latched onto me upon reading this. So thank you to Jael for (inadvertently) giving me this idea. I hope you don’t mind I turned this into a slash story.


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